Even the most sullen and withdrawn were sensitive to the penetrating nastiness of the fog. At this terrible juncture, Jack maintained his composure,—a smile played upon his face before the cap was drawn over it,—and the last words he uttered were, "My poor mother! I shall soon join her!" The rope was then adjusted, and the cart began to move. "Good-bye, young man; and good luck. “Now isn’t this nice!” that lady exclaimed. " "Wood!" exclaimed Trenchard,—"of Wych Street?" "The same.
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